


sexual healing

by saysthemagpie



Series: makes me feel so fine (narry roleplay) [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry's a New Age healer/massage therapist, Humor, M/M, Massage, Object Insertion, PWP, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, niall's just along for the ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saysthemagpie/pseuds/saysthemagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"And how does that feel?" Harry asks. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>"Guh," Niall says eloquently.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"It's best if you can be a bit more specific." Harry begins to rock the plug inside of Niall, opening him up further. "Describing the sensations you are experiencing allows your therapist-healer to more effectively tailor your massage to your body's needs."</i>
</p><p>Harry's a shitty New Age energy healer with unorthodox methods. Niall's an unsuspecting first-time client. The cosmic balance of the universe might be at stake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sexual healing

**Author's Note:**

> the best way to procrastinate on writing a fic is to write another one, so here, have some smutty narry roleplay fluff. this fic is set in the same 'verse as [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5289143), though you don't have to read that one first to understand it. 
> 
> title is from marvin gaye's "sexual healing."
> 
> EDIT: just want to clarify, in light of all the recent workplace harassment revelations, that the sexual encounter depicted here is 100% consensual and pre-negotiated, even if that takes a little while to become apparent. I'm not adding a dubcon warning but just wanted to give you a heads up.

"Mr. Horan?" 

Niall looks up. "That's me," he says, which is probably obvious considering he's the only person in the waiting room. He’d shown up for his appointment nearly an hour early, following the instructions left for him over voicemail. There wasn't even a receptionist there to greet him, just a stack of forms emblazoned with the logo of the La Grenouille Day Spa & Energy Healing Center. On the first page, someone had written _Please complete prior to meeting with your healer_ in sparkly purple gel pen.

Niall had done so. The questionnaire struck him as a bit odd; in addition to providing information about his family's medical history dating back four generations, he'd also had to answer a series of open-ended short answer questions, among them _Describe your relationship with the childhood pet whose death affected you most_ and _Do you have a favorite moon phase? Why or why not?_

Then he'd waited. And waited. 

The slim young man who stands in front of him now is dressed in the oddest robe Niall's ever seen, a purple silk monstrosity with extravagantly large sleeves. It looks sort of like the deranged lovechild of a kimono and a nineteenth-century spinster's dressing gown.

“Welcome to La Grenouille,” he says. “My name is Harry Styles and I’ll be your therapist-healer today.”

“I’m Niall,” Niall says, extending his hand. 

Harry doesn't shake it, just presses his palms together as if in prayer and bows deeply at the waist. “Yes, I know,” he says. "I could detect your aura even from my office."

"Oh no," Niall says. "Is that bad?"

Harry doesn't answer the question right away. Instead he presses his fingers to his temples and closes his eyes, grimacing. After a moment he opens them again.

"Best to keep your mind fixed on the positive, I find," he says to Niall, rather ominously, before turning and sweeping out of the room. 

Niall hesitates, glancing around the empty waiting room, then hurries after him down a long dark corridor.

"Have you visited our healing center before, Mr. Horan?" Harry asks politely, opening the last door and ushering Niall into a small, dimly lit room that smells strongly of lavender. In the center of the room is a large massage table surrounded by flickering candles. Soft, meditative music plays quietly from unseen speakers.

"Just Niall, please," Niall replies. "And no—it's me first time getting a massage thingy, actually."

Harry raises his eyebrows at that and produces a small notepad and a pen from his robe, marking something down. "Well, I hope we can make your experience a memorable one. Before we begin, I'll need you to please remove all your clothes and lie facedown on the table under the sheet."

"All my clothes?" Niall asks.

Harry gives him a look. "Everything," he says firmly. "In the meantime, I'll look over your paperwork and make sure everything's in order."

Once Harry's gone, Niall toes off his trainers and strips off his jeans and t-shirt, folding them carefully on the counter. After a moment of hesitation, he takes his briefs off too and tucks them away carefully under his jeans. Then he slips under the sheet, lying flat on his stomach with his arms by his side and his chin resting on the headrest, which has a circle cut out where his face goes.

It's a little awkward, but on the whole, more comfortable than he'd expected. The room's warm and the sheets are soft against his naked skin. Niall nearly dozes off listening to the music, which consists primarily of reedy flute melodies, bird calls, and what sounds a lot like large rocks being dropped into deep water. 

He's not sure how much time passes before there's a quiet knock on the door. Niall's got his face pressed into the headrest so he doesn’t see Harry reenter the room, though the smell of lavender intensifies.

"Are you ready to begin your healing journey?" Harry asks.

"Yes," Niall says uncertainly.

"Blessings," Harry says. He draws the sheet down to Niall's waist, then slicks up his palms with massage oil. When he places his hands on Niall's bare skin, Niall jumps a little at the cold.

"Stillness is the path to freedom," Harry says reprovingly as he begins to work at the muscles in Niall's back. 

"Sorry," Niall says. 

The massage itself feels amazing. Harry works in silence, though he occasionally murmurs instructions to Niall to move his arms here or there, or comments darkly on the state of Niall's theta waves. He’s got broad, strong hands, and they're soft and smooth, not callused from guitar-playing like Niall's. Niall feels so relaxed he zones out for a while, slipping into a kind of trance state, until Harry draws the sheet the rest of the way down and begins massaging his arse. 

Niall's eyes fly open. 

"You seem to carry a lot of tension here," Harry says serenely, kneading his left cheek.

"Um, guess I spend a lot of time sitting on me arse," Niall says with an awkward laugh. "Always been a bit of a couch potato, me."

"Mm," Harry says, pausing to pour more massage oil onto his hands. "You must work in an office, then."

"Er, no, I'm in the music industry," Niall says, and immediately cringes at how pretentious he must sound. "I mean, I sing in a band. And play a bit of guitar."

"How lovely," Harry says, though he doesn't ask anything else. Niall's just starting to relax again into the touch, the feeling of strong, sure fingers massaging the tension out of his glutes, when his cheeks are prized gently apart and a finger begins to slowly circle his hole. He makes a startled, involuntary noise.

"Something the matter?" Harry sounds calm, unruffled. The finger pauses.

"Is that—er, standard?" Niall asks, his voice slightly strained.

The finger begins to rub slowly over his entrance again, the nail catching lightly on the rim and making Niall shiver.

"Oh, of course not," Harry says with a little chuckle. "Our most advanced forms of relaxation and release therapy are reserved solely for our gold level VIP members. This is a delicate art, requiring a special degree of mental and physical synchronicity. Not all therapist-healers are properly certified to practice it."

"And you are? Certified, I mean?" Niall can't help but ask, stifling a quiet gasp when the very tip of the finger dips inside him. 

"Top of my graduating class," Harry replies proudly. Niall's mind conjures up the image of an entire class of lilac-robed students crowding around a massage table, all of them taking diligent notes as a white-haired professor fingers some poor bloke’s arse. "In fact, I received special honors for developing an entirely new form of stimulation massage. It's our center's specialty."

The fingertip inside of Niall twists slightly. "Of course, if you feel at all uncomfortable, I can conclude the standard massage. I'll have to inquire with our reception desk about refunding your fee, of course, but your satisfaction is our top priority."

"No, that's all right," Niall says quickly. "I don't want to inconvenience anyone. Um, you can carry on, if you want."

"Excellent." Harry sounds pleased. "I think you'll find it quite therapeutic, Mr. Horan."

"Just Niall," Niall says faintly, as Harry's oil-slick fingers begin to probe between his cheeks again. He bites his lip when the first finally breaches him fully, joined soon by a second and, after a bit, a third. 

Having Harry's fingers in his arse is a bit like sex and a bit not like sex. It feels far less clinical than a medical exam, but not quite like a prelude to fucking. Harry seems perfectly content to just explore Niall's arse, scissoring his long slender fingers inside of him, thumb tracing the stretch of his rim. 

Niall's always secretly loved having his arse played with; when he’s having a proper, luxurious wank he can go at it sometimes for hours, idly watching porn and fingering himself open until his hole is puffy and loose and sloppy with lube, his cock bobbing untouched against his stomach. He gets hard in slow degrees, so slowly it takes him a while to realize it's happening. When Harry finally withdraws his fingers, he can't help but whimper a little.

"Just preparing you for the next stage of your relaxation therapy," Harry says. "You'll likely feel a slight pressure at first as the massage instrument enters you, followed by a feeling of fullness. Be sure to tell me if you feel any discomfort."

Niall barely has time to process this information before something blunt and cool is breaching him, replacing Harry's fingers. He experiences a brief moment of panicky confusion—what the _actual fuck_ —but he's been fingered open so thoroughly that the thing slides easily into him, filling him up before he can even take a breath to protest. 

"And how does that feel?" Harry asks. 

"Guh," Niall says eloquently.

"It's best if you can be a bit more specific." Harry begins to rock the plug inside of Niall, opening him up further. "Describing the sensations you are experiencing allows your therapist-healer to more effectively tailor your massage to your body's needs." 

"Um," Niall manages. He makes a choked little sound when the plug grazes his prostate. "Okay, yeah. It feels, like—feels full, really full. S'bigger than I'm used to, I guess?" He blushes, suddenly grateful that Harry can't see his face. "Not that I, like. I mean, I do, sometimes, but—"

"You like to feel full?" Harry inquires, cutting him off.

"Yeah," Niall says. He shivers a little, pressing his face harder into the cushioned headrest and willing himself not to move. He's so hard now it's almost painful, but if he keeps his hips pinned firmly to the table thinks he can conceal it from Harry. Maybe.

"I'll be sure to make a note in your file," Harry says. 

Niall wonders if he's imagining it or if Harry's voice sounds a little deeper than it did before. It makes his cock stiffen even more, the idea that Harry's affected by the sight of Niall naked and spread open for him on the massage table, a thick plug buried inside him. 

The angle changes slightly, so that the plug—the _massage instrument_ , Niall corrects himself, in a last ditch effort to maintain some semblance of detachment, like this whole thing isn't the hottest thing that's ever happened to him—hits his prostate dead-on with each slow, deliberate thrust.

"You take the instrument very well," Harry says after a moment, and Niall's cock twitches so violently there's no way Harry could have missed it. 

"Sorry," Niall says, mortified. 

"Shh, that's all right," Harry replies. "A perfectly normal physiological response." He pauses, then adds delicately, "Some of our clients find that moving or rolling their hips can help relieve the uncomfortable buildup of pressure."

The buildup of—oh god. Niall blushes even deeper when he realizes what Harry's advising him to do. Do people actually _do_ that in massages? 

"You may find this helps as well," Harry continues, hand coming to rest on the base of the plug, and then—Jesus fucking Christ. Niall's back arches off the table, a cry of agonized pleasure torn from his lips, as the thing starts fucking _vibrating_ inside him.

"Very nice," Harry says, and Niall abandons the last shreds of his dignity, rutting instinctively against the table, his leaking erection leaving a wet spot below him as he tries to rub one off on the sheets. 

Harry draws the vibrating toy back just a little and Niall moves instinctively, arse pushing back and then rocking forward onto the table. He tries to bite his lip, tries to keep quiet, but Harry just flicks the switch so that the frequency of the vibrations intensifies, until Niall's almost weeping, totally overwhelmed by pleasure and need.

"Let it out," Harry murmurs, snaking a hand between Niall and the table, fingers splaying wide over his belly. His other hand grips the base of the plug firmly, holding it in place so Niall can fuck himself on it. "Feel the negative energy dissipating. You are a radiant child of the universe, bathed in light. Let me hear you say it."

"Fucking hell," Niall gasps, working himself frantically on the vibrator.

"Say it," Harry repeats, a note of steel in his voice.

"'M a—a child of the universe. Please, Harry—"

"Radiant child," Harry corrects him, and Niall half-sobs, desperate to come.

"Radiant child of the universe," he manages. "Bathed in—in light. 'M a radiant child of the universe." 

"Yes, you are," Harry says with satisfaction, and ratchets up the vibrations a final notch, pushing the toy deep inside of Niall and holding it against his prostate until Niall starts to come, his cock spurting in hot, sticky pulses all over his belly, the table, Harry's hand. 

The toy continues buzzing inside of him as Niall's arse clenches and unclenches, riding out his orgasm. Harry leaves it on until Niall starts trying to squirm away, whining a little through his teeth. 

"Excellent," Harry says, sounding satisfied, and switches it off. "The first stage of your healing journey is complete. Roll over onto your back now so I can assess your energy levels, please." 

Niall does his best to comply, though Harry has to help him because his limbs feel like they weigh a million pounds. He's so wrung-out and quivery he can't even bring himself to care that he's lying in the wet spot, or that there's jizz smeared all over his front. 

Harry places his hands over Niall's stomach, palms down, a few inches over his body. He closes his eyes and hums to himself.

"Your aura is significantly more vibrant," he says, opening his eyes again. Niall makes what he hopes is a noise of pleased assent, though it turns into an embarrassingly breathy moan when another aftershock shivers through him, making his arse clench down almost painfully around the toy. 

Harry frowns. "But I'm sensing that you're not fully relaxed yet, Mr. Horan." He slides the toy out of him easily, setting it down on the side of the table.

"S’Niall," Niall murmurs dazedly. That's his name, he thinks. Also, he's pretty sure if he felt any more relaxed he'd be unconscious. He tries to tell Harry as much.

"We can do better," Harry says. He pushes up his ridiculously oversized purple sleeves, a determined glint in his eyes. "The cosmic balance of the universe demands it. Also, the customer must be fully satisfied."

"'M satisfied," Niall starts to say, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. But before he can get the words out, a warm, wet mouth is closing around the tip of his still half-hard cock. 

His body tries to arch up into it and jerk away at the same time, fingers scrabbling for a hold on the edges of the massage table. Harry's mouth just follows him, one hand curling around the base of Niall's cock to hold him in place, planting a sloppy kiss on the oversensitive head before he starts working his way down the shaft. 

Niall watches, his mouth hanging half-open, as Harry cleans him up with his tongue, lapping up the remnants of his orgasm from his cock and stomach. Then he envelops him again in his mouth, cheeks hollowing out as he determinedly sucks Niall hard again. 

It doesn't take long, because that's just what the sight of Harry's head bobbing in his lap does to him.

"Mmm," Harry says after a moment, straightening up, smacking his lips and closing his eyes as if in bliss. His pink mouth is shiny in the dim light, smeared with clear, sticky fluid. "I can tell you enjoy a balanced diet."

"I've been encouraged to eat a lot of fruit," Niall says faintly. "Listen, uh. Not to question your techniques or anything, 'cos I'm really enjoying the massage, but, like—is this strictly legal?"

Harry draws himself up, looking affronted. "Mr. Horan, I'm sure I don't know what you're implying."

"Um," Niall says. "I thought—I mean, I always thought massages were just a neck-and-shoulders sort of thing."

"Whose diploma is that, Mr. Horan?" Harry asks, pointing at a framed piece of paper on the far wall with a dramatic flourish of his trailing sleeves. 

Niall squints at it, but the flickering candles don’t give off enough light for him to make out the words. 

"Yours?" he hazards. 

"Exactly," Harry says. " _I_ am a trained massage therapist and energy healer, and _you_ are just a client with dangerously misaligned chakras."

"Hey now," Niall says, unsure if he's being insulted.

"You are, of course, free to leave at any point," Harry continues stiffly. If Niall wasn't confident that Harry was a consummate professional, he might say he was pouting. "However, I wouldn't be surprised if you experience a serious disruption in your bioenergy for weeks to come. Good evening, Mr. Horan." He draws away from the table, as if he's preparing to leave.

"No, wait!" Niall says, sitting up and reaching for him. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I don't want my—biothingies to be off. I'm sorry for doubting you, Harry. I know you're the best energy healer in London."

"Best in the world, probably," Harry sniffs. There's a note of reproach in his tone still. 

Niall agrees readily. "Yeah, definitely. Now, um, you said something about the cosmic balance of the universe being at stake?"

Harry studies him for a moment. "Well, yours is a serious case," he says. "The most challenging of my career, even."

"Please, you have to help me," Niall says, fisting his cock and doing his best to look plaintive.

"The final stage of your healing journey will require your active participation," Harry warns him. "I'm willing to assist you, but I can't do all the work."

"Of course not.”

Harry sighs. "Very well, then," he says, stepping back from the table and unknotting the sash around his waist. The silk robe slips from his shoulders, landing in a heap at his feet. He's completely naked underneath, and is also—Niall notes with interest—sporting a truly impressive hard-on.

"Wow," Niall says, stroking himself a little faster. "Is that for me?"

Harry gives him a withering look. "This is my profession, Mr. Horan. My sacred calling. Please don't be crude."

"I hate when you call me Mr. Horan," Niall says. "But I also find it weirdly hot."

"Switch with me," Harry says. Niall hops up and lets Harry settle down in his place, his legs dangling over the side of the table. Harry leans over and pulls open a drawer, rooting around in it for a moment before producing a foil-wrapped condom.

"Really?" Niall asks.

"Well, we've only just met," Harry says, ripping it open with his teeth.

"No, I meant—they really store condoms under there?" 

"A good therapist-healer is never caught unprepared," Harry says. He pulls Niall forward by the hips so he can roll the condom onto his dick.

"God, you’re hot," Niall muses, running his hands up Harry's naked thighs. “Almost forgot what you looked like under that awful robe.”

"It's YSL, you philistine. And stop getting distracted, you're on a healing journey," Harry reminds him. "This part's crucial." 

He pulls his knees up, exposing his pink little hole to Niall. Niall makes an appreciative noise.

"S'nice, babe," he says. "Gonna let me inside you now?"

"I suppose." Harry affects indifference, leaning back on his elbows, but his thighs quiver when Niall rubs at his entrance with two fingers, before slipping the first one inside him. Harry's already wet and open, a slick, easy slide.

“Mm, I wondered what you were doing back here," Niall says, withdrawing his fingers, fitting the blunt head of his cock to Harry's entrance instead. "Those forms took me ages to fill out, by the way."

"It was important information," Harry says, his breath hitching a little as Niall starts to push slowly into him. "For your therapist-healer to know. Integral to your treatment plan.”

"Uh-huh," Niall says, and starts to fuck him, slow at first to let him get used to the stretch. Harry feels so good around him, hot and tight and so perfectly, gorgeously familiar. "How'd you get so good at massage, anyway?"

"Watched a bunch of YouTube videos," Harry says, letting his thighs fall open further against the table, his head tipping back. "Also some pornos." 

"Felt so good," Niall says. He gets a hand around Harry's big lovely dick, stroking him in time with his thrusts. "Always make me feel so good, baby, you know that?"

“Yeah,” Harry says, a hint of smugness in his voice. “I know.”

“Would’ve fucked you with that robe on, you know,” Niall says, kissing his way up Harry’s neck. “Would fuck you in anything.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t have let you,” Harry says. “It cost like a zillion pounds and you’re all sticky.”

“Whose fault is that, babe?” Niall asks, picking up the pace. Harry moans at that, his mouth falling open as he pushes his hips up into Niall's grip. He must be close, Niall thinks; he always gets a little mindless with it near the end, his body hungry for feeling good but unable to do much more than just take it. 

"Such a good boy for me, pet,” he says. "Want you to sit up so I can kiss you a little, yeah?"

Harry tries to struggle upwards, and Niall puts a hand on his lower back, dragging him up against his chest. They both gasp at the sudden change of angle, Niall sinking in impossibly deeper as he rocks slowly into his boyfriend’s arse.

"Harry," Niall groans, slamming their mouths together in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. He can taste himself on Harry's lips, bitterness and salt, and beneath it the faint hint of lavender.

“Complete your journey,” Harry mumbles into his mouth, “c’mon, Ni, wanna feel you complete it inside me,” and it really shouldn’t be hot, Harry’s shitty New Age dirty talk, but Niall comes anyway, his rhythm faltering as he fucks into Harry with fast, frantic thrusts, pulsing hot into the condom. 

"Yeah—oh, _oh_ ," Harry breathes as Niall jerks deep inside him, and then he's coming too, whimpering as he pushes his cock up into Niall's fist one last time, spilling over his fingers. 

Afterwards Harry wants to curl up and go to sleep right away, as usual. He'd probably pass out right there on the massage table if left to his own devices, but Niall wraps him up in his silk robe again, ignoring his protests, and hauls him down the hall to the showers. The massage oil has got absolutely _everywhere_ , all over their bodies and also, somehow, in Harry's hair.

"I still can't believe Liam agreed to lend you the keys to his private gym," Niall says. "Close your eyes, babe." He guides Harry's head back under the water so he can rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

"Um," Harry says, his eyes still screwed shut. "About that."

"Harry!" Niall exclaims.

"Shh, shh, don't be mad," Harry says, pulling him in blindly. Their wet, naked bodies slide together again under the hot spray, skin slick against skin, Harry's thigh nudging between Niall’s legs. "Or else we’re gonna have to do the healing journey all over again. You have to think of your _aura_ , babe." 

"My aura’s fine and you know it," Niall grumbles, but he lets Harry kiss him quiet anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments fulfill me! you can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.saysthemagpie.tumblr.com).


End file.
